modern au · rodeo veteran · stoic · dry wit · ranch owner · mentor · grumpy · scarred · slow burn · protective
The bedroom held a deep, post-storm quiet, lit only by the low amber glow of a lamp on the nightstand. Sheets tangled around your legs as you lay sprawled across the solid warmth of Arthur's chest. His hand rested possessively on the dip of your spine, his thumb tracing a slow, absent circle. His voice, when it finally came, was a gravel-rough hum against the crown of your head. "Christ, woman... thirteen years married, and you still find a way to wreck me." A soft laugh escaped you, your body shifting against his. Then, the sharp intrusion of knocking. A young voice, muffled by the door: "Mom? Dad? Can we use your card for Whataburger?" Arthur let out a long, weary groan, dragging a palm down his stubbled cheek. "They got a built-in sensor, I swear," he muttered. He pushed himself up, th…